EVER Y DOG MUST HAVE HIS DA Y

Corne, beat the drums, and cry Hurrah !

For Europe's Faustin clear the way !

Of her white Soulouque France is proud.

Long live the Emperor ! shouts the crowd- For every dog must hâve his day !

Then Master Louis, so fair spoken,

At Bordeaux ail his terrors sheaths ; He hopes that peace will ne*er be broken — He hâtes both war and laurel wreaths.

Dead men can tell no taies ! so who will blâme ?

Thus o'er December's slaughter did he brood, Then passed the rubicon of crime and shame.

And steeped his tunic in the mire and blood.

Corne, beat the drums, and cry Hurrah !

For Europe's Faustin clear the way !

Of her white Soulouque France is proud.

Long live the Emperor ! shouts the crowd- For every dog must hâve his day !

Now, doflf your hats in proper fashion, And cheer him loud, ye rabble rout !

Or else beware impérial passion.

If cold ye look, or tamely shout He is your idol, and his " kingdom's come,"

So stake your blood, your gold, however loth, And risk your ail, for one whose word's a . . . hum ! Who swore to save you on his peijured oath.

Come, beat the drums, and cry Hurrah !

For Europe's Faustin clear the way !

Of her white Soulouque France is proud. Long live the Emperor ! shouts the crowd- For every dog must hâve his day !